Weep not for him! The Thracians wisely gave
Tears to the birth-couch, triumph to the grave.
’Tis misery to be born—to live—to die:
Ev’n he who noblest lives, lives but to sigh.
The right not shields from wrong, nor worth from wo,
Nor glory from reproach; he found it so.
Not strong life’s triumphs, not assured its truth;
Ev’n virtue’s garland hides an aspic tooth.
His glorious morn was past, and past his noon;—
Life’s duty done, death never comes too soon.